The Summer Dragon

by Todd Lockwood

  Bellua glanced at me, and for an instant his gaze dropped to my breasts. He seemed to realize his indiscretion; his face flushed ever so slightly as he looked back quickly to my eyes. My throat tightened with anger and embarrassment. I folded my arms over my chest.

  Father stood in stark silence, eyes wide. “You don’t mean that,” he said at last.

  “Broodmaster, your stubbornness forces me to use whatever leverage I have.” Bellua finally looked away from me. “But my purpose is not to steal your daughter. My purpose is to nail this incident down before it develops an unwholesome life of its own. This is for your own good. Darian will receive a qit, with the blessing of Korruzon. Maia will not.”

  All eyes pinned Father. His gaze might have killed Bellua where he stood.

  I felt as though I’d swallowed a coal.

  “Broodmaster?” said Bellua.

  Father bristled. “This is less like a negotiation than it is extortion.”

  “This was never a negotiation, Broodmaster.”

  “Curse you. I’ll take the one qit, then. Just leave my daughter out of it.”

  “I have explained why I cannot.”

  “We’re not done here, not by a far—”

  “Oh, we are. We’re well and truly done.” Bellua turned on his heel, mounted his dragon, paused to look down at us. “And Maia will leave with me when I go.”

  “Bellua—” Father began, but Bellua launched and didn’t look back.

  NINE

  BY THE TIME we landed in the paddock, I’d found a tight, spiny knot of anger with which to fight back my tears. I was determined to show a brave front despite my pain. I clenched my jaw and set to the immediate business of unsaddling mounts and feeding the babies in the paddock. Father and the others were distracted by these simple tasks, or chose to be. No one spoke to me, which was fine. I avoided all eyes and made a point of not looking for my baby. I was certain I would lose my composure if I spotted her.

  It became more and more clear to me: each of those present had interpreted my experience in a way that furthered his own agenda. Rov agreed only with those points that allowed him to demand babies and fill his requisition. Mabir protected his little bit of authority by ensuring that the context expanded enough to contain his flock. And just when it seemed that he might rise to my defense, he’d only agreed to a solution that met in the middle of all the conflicting interests.

  Bellua worked to make sure that Mabir acknowledged his superior position, turning Getig into a mirror of Korruzon. Worse still, he’d threatened to haul me to Avigal, the capital city, to be interrogated by more of his ilk. When I thought of his eyes flashing to my breasts I grew more and more angry—and terrified.

  Father had said the fight wasn’t over, but the needs of the day swept him up. The aeries were certainly more important than I was. So what did that make me? Chattel? I swallowed tears. If Bellua took me away from Riat, anything was possible. He made it sound like an inquisition before Korruzon Himself, but it could be something entirely different. Bondage? Rape? How far would Bellua go to bury my story?

  Even Darian had included me only when he needed to share the blame of an ugly omen with someone else.

  There was but a single instant in the entire discussion that made sense to me: when Father offered to care for Fren. He would supplant injury with comfort, evil portent with good deed. “There,” he had said, “I cancel one of your bad omens.”

  It was my introduction to the politics of business and religion. I felt betrayed. Worst of all, though, I felt betrayed by the Summer Dragon. It was as if he had summoned me to find the omen that damned me.

  When the babies had been fed and the paddock swept, Father waded among the qits. “Darian! Show me which one is yours.”

  Darian looked at me briefly, his mouth downturned, but then he moved carefully through the brood to the little black-and-copper that he had chosen. He knelt down in front of the qitling and reached out a tentative hand. The baby stretched his neck forward to sniff at Darian’s fingers.

  “It’s okay, son. You can touch him now.”

  Darian’s hand cupped the baby’s chin. Immediately, other qits crowded around, bumping against his leg and sniffing too, as if a barrier they’d never known existed had just crumbled. Darian smiled, then glanced at me and his smile vanished.

  “Ignore the others, Darian. Only look at yours. Touch only him.” Darian did as he was instructed, and soon the other babies wandered away to begin new games of chase and pounce.

  “Speak to him, son.”

  “What do I say?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell him a story. Describe the weather. Babble like a lunatic.”

  I was unaware that I’d been backing up until I ran into one of the broodhouse doors. The weathered planks were rough on my hands, while the chin Darian caressed would be soft and smooth. Envy swarmed up inside me. I fought it. I didn’t want envy. I wanted only my hard anger.

  Father summoned the riders of the nurse dragons, Janno and Marit. “Gentlemen, I need your help. It’s time to divert the babies away from their parents.” The two old soldiers nodded and called their mounts. This was everyday business for their experienced females, who proceeded to herd the qitlings with their wings and forefeet. I caught sight of the little brown-and-buff tumbling with another baby, her brown eyes winking with delight.

  No! Only anger.

  Father whistled to his mount. “Shuja! Grus! Come with me. I have a surprise for you.” Shuja stepped over immediately, and his copper-colored dam came behind. “Do you see? One of your babies will remain this year.”

  “Haa!” Shuja tossed his head. “Shoosha [purrrr].” Shuja was happy.

  “Qit,” said Grus, more softly, and pressed her cheek against Shuja’s neck.

  “Tauman! Jhem! Call your parents. It’s time to sequester them.”

  In short order, all six parents were gathered around the little black-and-copper. I glimpsed him between their legs, crawling in and out of Darian’s lap. “Having one of the babies in the stable will be a comfort to them,” I heard Father say. The nurse dragons now instinctively began to separate the babies from their parents. Bellua’s dragon stood back from the proceedings, head high, aloof. The merihem started to wander my way. I pressed back against the broodhouse door as if I might merge with it, pass through, and come out the other side. Broodlings surrounded me in a yipping tide of joy. The brown-and-buff stopped once, right in front of me. Her eyes met mine, and I trembled on the brink of indecision. But before I could reach down for that illicit touch, she bounded off for a wrestling match or a game of bite-me.

  My family and our dragons headed toward the bridge to the homestead. The dragons would stay in the winter stable, as we called it—the permanent quarters for our breeding dragons in the clifftop homestead. We were done now with the broodhouse until next spring, when new clutches of eggs would be laid. I watched them go until the nurse dragons stepped into my line of sight. Bellua waded among the qits, hands behind his back. He looked up, directly at me, raised his eyebrows in some false, conciliatory show of sympathy, and opened his mouth to speak. But I fled through the man-door into the broodhouse, furious and confused, and choked back tears.

  The brood platform was silent and empty. No massed tumbles of broodlings, no mew and yip, no scamper and tussle. Only muffled echoes from the other side of the doors.

  The emptiness was large, and I was small.

  I had all but one of the nests cleaned out when Jhem found me. The cliffside doors were open, so I could shovel the soiled wood chips over the precipice. She grabbed a broom and started sweeping the remnant dust at the far end of the row. She said nothing. I was numb, beyond anger or grief or any other emotion. Drained. We toiled in silence.

  The sweeping went faster than the shoveling. We met at the final empty nest, Audax and Coluver’s. I sat on it, elbows on my knees. Jhem leaned
her broom against the wall and sat next to me, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, then rested her head on mine. “Your father is in a hard position, Maia. He will do what he can to protect you, but the Ministry dictates what the Ministry wants.”

  I stuck my hands under my armpits to stop their trembling. “Where’s Darian?”

  “In the winter stables. Your Father wanted him to begin the bonding immediately, before Rov or Bellua had a chance to reconsider. He’s named him already: Nitac Aru: A sign of victory, to honor the Summer Dragon and put good energy on the day. Mabir will administer the first graving in their bond marks after the banquet.”

  I ought to have been in tears, but my eyes were dry. “Good energy on the day. That’s hilarious.”

  “Darian asked me to tell you that he’s sorry for what happened—”

  “Oh yes, I feel very much better now.”

  “And that he’s worried. Don’t be angry with him, Maia. He’s trying, in his way.”

  I brushed my hair out of my face. “What am I going to do?”

  “Stay brave. You’re Magha’s daughter.”

  I wrapped my arms across hers. “But for the Summer Dragon, we would have kept no babies this year. Instead, we keep one, and I have become a problem.” I groaned. “Bellua said I would bring a curse . . .” I choked on the word.

  “Don’t let your thoughts take you there, Maia. Getig did appear. I don’t care what Bellua or Mabir say, I take hope from that. Because of him there is also time, and a chance. Bellua won’t be leaving right away; he and Mabir have to concoct their version of your story.” Jhem cradled my head against her shoulder.

  “I won’t go. The way he looked at me . . .” Sizing up my worth as chattel. But he’d seemed embarrassed by his indiscretion too.

  A tear ran down Jhem’s cheek. She kissed my forehead. “It’s not over.”

  Father and Tauman entered the broodhouse, spotted us, and joined us quietly. I sat up as my family gathered around me.

  Father wiped his brow with the back of a hand. “High Ones, what a day.”

  Tauman crossed his arms. “Who among us, besides Maia, has seen a High One? I have not.”

  “Nor I.” Jhem brushed hair back from my face.

  Father sat on an empty nest. “I saw Korruzon from afar when I was in the Dragonry, during maneuvers in Avigal. He was unlike anything I’d ever seen. An undeniable presence. Huge, black, with wings the color of fire, red stripes like flames on His chest and legs. Eyes bright as the sun. If I hadn’t seen Him with my own eyes, I would be inclined to dismiss talk of High Dragons entirely.”

  Tauman and Jhem looked at each other, then at me.

  “But it happened. It’s real,” said Jhem. “The question is, why here? Why Maia, if it doesn’t mean something?”

  “You heard.” Father looked at each of us, but his gaze lingered on me. “It was meant for Darian. Because Maia was there too, Korruzon had to arrange a ‘not for you’ omen, just for her, to break her heart and free her up for what amounts to an abduction.”

  I clenched Jhem’s hand.

  She squeezed it in return. “The man is a pig.”

  Tauman shook his head, as if to clear it of conflicting thoughts. “Mabir didn’t refute Bellua’s interpretat—”

  “Of course he didn’t!” said Father. “What else could he do? Bellua is his superior. More than that, Avigal holds our purse strings. The Ministry dictates according to its wants.”

  That was almost exactly what Jhem had said only a minute ago.

  Father sighed. “Mabir and I did what we could, but it’s recoiled on us. I’d return the qit if I thought it would save Maia, but then Bellua would be free to take Darian too if he so desired. Don’t forget he wanted both of them to stand before Korruzon. Bellua has all the power he needs to get what he wants.”

  My voice sounded thin and quivery when I spoke. “I won’t go.”

  Father put a hand on my shoulder. “I won’t let him take you.”

  “I don’t trust him. If he takes me away, he won’t allow me to come home. I know it.”

  He nodded. “That is my fear, too. He has no interest in taking you to Council. That’s only pretense. What he really wants is leverage.”

  “I think the word you want is hostage.” Jhem’s chin was outthrust.

  “This isn’t about me at all, really,” I said. A statement, not a question. “He’s using me to scare us. It’s about the Rasaal and who gets to interpret the stories.”

  “It’s about you all right,” said Jhem. “If you were ugly he’d have thought of something else.”

  Father looked at me. Then he looked at Jhem, and the corners of his mouth drew downward even further. “Jhem is right: the man is a pig. But Maia is also right—he wants to bury this story. It can’t be Getig; it can only be a guise or aspect of Korruzon.”

  “But at the expense of production?” Jhem crossed her arms. “We just lost our most productive aerie. Why in Gadia would that not be more important than his blasted authority? You would think that the Ministry would need for us to increase production.”

  Father shook his head, as if the only simple answer was unacceptable somehow. Then he looked down, frowning. “Bellua seemed to show doubt when he saw the footprint in the ruins. He doesn’t know how to interpret it, but he could no longer deny that a High Dragon had stepped in our valley. He’s confused or envious. Perhaps even scared. He gave away more than he wanted to. It rankles him to have his doctrine questioned, so he laid a trap baited with a single qit. And I stepped into it knowingly.”

  “We can’t wait a whole year for another qit,” said Jhem. “Bellua knows that. If Darian’s dragon fails to bond with a mate . . .”

  Father nodded. “Of course he knows it. He used his authority to drive wedges into our arguments. Allowing us one qit puts us at the Ministry’s mercy. He gains control.”

  “But why?”

  “There’s something much bigger going on here. What would it mean to the faithful if any High Dragon other than Korruzon appeared in a distant province? Avigal is not about to cede authority to a province, least of all, religious authority. If Bellua can’t bend the story to his version of truth, then he’ll try to turn it into something dark. Or murder it entirely.”

  “What about Rov?” said Tauman. “Can we convince him to give us another qit? It’s his decision ultimately.”

  Father shook his head. “He won’t go against the Dragon Temple in matters of faith.”

  “Then who is in charge here? Rov? Or Bellua?” Tauman’s voice was edgy now too.

  “Any other year, Rov, of course. But the Summer Dragon introduced a factor outside of his reckoning. And besides, he wanted all the qits to begin with. I wouldn’t give him a chance to reconsider the decision he’s already made.”

  “What do we do?” Jhem’s hand squeezed mine painfully. “We can’t let that puffed up merihem take Maia to Avigal. Once she’s out of our hands . . .”

  I felt again Bellua’s gaze touching my body, and I stood straight. “We have to fight them!”

  “What would you propose we do?” said Tauman. “Start an insurrection? Go to war with the Rasaal?”

  Jhem snorted. “We have a day, perhaps, to convince Rov or Mabir to . . .”

  “It’s not going to happen, Jhem. This is business. As Father said, the Ministry owns us. It’s not just Bellua pinching us; Rov showed his muscle in negotiations already. We aren’t going to get as much as we’d hoped. But Bellua is determined to tell this story his way.”

  “Jhem and Maia are right,” said Father. “It can’t end this way.”

  “We’ll lose!” Tauman leaned forward. “This is the Ministry we’re talking about. Rov is its voice here today, and Bellua has made up his mind for him. Would it be wrong to consider how we might take advantage of a marriage—”

  “What?” snapped Jhem.r />
  Tauman spoke slowly, as if to an imbecile. “We would do better to figure out what advantages we can still—”

  “Are you talking about your sister as if she was a commodity to be traded?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I already told you: I won’t go.”

  Tauman could barely glance at me. “Will you let me finish? We need to be practical. We have an entire village—an entire province—to think of.”

  Jhem stiffened. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing! Your own blood and kin . . .”

  “I’m not talking about marrying her to a merihem, but one of the other aeries might—”

  I hit him in the arm with a fist. “You self-serving pig-horror! I hate you!” My own brother was willing to trade me for some small measure of security. Was that all he thought I was good for? He recoiled, and I hit him again. It felt good.

  “Back off, little girl, or—”

  “Enough!” Father barked. “Enough.”

  I stared at Tauman, so angry my knuckles were white. He glanced at me again, but could not meet my gaze.

  Jhem held me tightly. “Then what of Getig?” There was a note of scorn in her voice. “Why here? And why Maia?”

  Father looked up with his face drawn and gray. I hadn’t seen him look so sad since the death of Mother. He echoed, “What of Getig?” Then he looked at me, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. “What of Getig?” He hung his head. “Maia, I regret my harsh words yesterday. Your mother always warned me that my anger was too quick. I still prove it.” He shook his head, seeking the right words. “You’re like her, you know. She was a daydreamer too. I loved that about her. But I worry for you sometimes. The world is changing, and you need to have a clear eye.”

  Father never apologized. Never. It felt like preparation for my departure, a need to make amends before it was too late. My Father, the mighty Magha, bending under the pressure of the Ministry. It almost undid me. Despair tore at my anger.

  No one said anything more. Not until Father stood and motioned to Tauman. “Come on. All of you. Guests from the village will be arriving soon.” He took me by the shoulders. “Maia, I want you to put your brave face on. Can you do that?”